


Need You Now

by parapraxis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parapraxis/pseuds/parapraxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you just need to know you're alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need You Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janto321 (FaceofMer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/gifts).



> For [merindab](http://merindab.tumblr.com/).

The sky had opened up over London; sheets of rain drenching the city well into the night. It had been a nightmare of a day that had nearly ended with Lestrade getting a bullet put in his brain by the suspect they’d chased down. He was getting slow and stupid, and tonight it had nearly killed him. If Donovan hadn’t been there…

Greg gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to the think about it and turning up the collar of his coat as he trudged up the steps of the modest row house and jammed his finger against the buzzer. He could feel the rain water trickling down the back of his neck from his hairline, colder now than it had been beating down upon him. His muscles were tightly knotted, shoulders bunched up at his ears.

When the door didn’t open immediately, Greg pushed the buzzer three more times until it finally opened, revealing a rather annoyed looking Mycroft standing on the other side of the threshold, dressed down slightly in a cream colored vest and matching trousers. His white button down shirt was rolled to the elbows, and in one hand Greg registered the half-empty tumbler of amber liquid. “You’re soaking,” Mycroft noted with a slight furrow of his brow. “You didn’t you walk here in this weather, did you?”

“Shut up.” Lestrade growled, gripping Mycroft by his tie and pulling the other man into a rough and needy kiss.

Mycroft stiffed and quickly broke away, his eyes darting around the street behind the other man. “Come inside, before someone sees you.”

Greg sighed, running his hand through his wet hair and ineffectively wiping it on his coat as he followed Mycroft in, letting the other man close and lock the door behind him. For a moment, they stood in the foyer, the silence deafening as he felt Mycroft studying him. “Don’t ask...not right now.”

“Alright.” Mycroft’s voice was soft and Lestrade watched him set the glass down on the side table near the door before moving behind him and easing the wet coat off his shoulders. “Let’s at least get you out of these wet clothes then, shall we?”

Dropping his shoulders a little, he let the coat be dragged off of him and hung up on the rack next to Mycroft’s before toeing off his sodden shoes and peeling off his wet socks--leaving himself barefoot on the cold floor. He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket for what must have been the hundredth time since taking off from the scene. Donovan, no doubt; checking up on him. A glass was pressed into his hand and Greg lifted his eyes to see Mycroft standing in front of him now with a sad little smile.

“Seems like you need this more than I do. Come on, let’s go upstairs. It’ll be warmer up there anyways. I don’t want you catching your death here in my foyer.”

Greg tensed at the mention of death--something that didn’t go unnoticed by the other man, who gave a slight look of concern before issuing a quiet apology. Lestrade downed the rest of Mycroft’s Scotch whiskey in a single swallow, knowing from the way it sucked the air from his lungs that it was an expensive brand, meant to be savored. Mycroft simply turned towards the stairs without a word and Greg set the glass back on the table before following the other man up to his bedroom.

It was here that Mycroft dropped all pretenses, that he permitted himself to simply be just a man in love, and once the bedroom door was closed, he allowed Lestrade to pull him back into his arms and kiss him fiercely. Working in tandem, they stripped one another of their clothes, leaving a trail to the large bed where Lestrade roughly turned him around, and bent him over the mattress, kicking his feet apart a little as if getting ready to frisk him.

Greg licked his lips as he took a step back, looking at Mycroft bracing himself on his forearms. “Nah, this won’t do…” He looked around the floor for an idea, then spotted Mycroft’s black silk tie, grabbing at it with his toes and bringing it up to his hand. “Hands behind your back.”

“Is this really neces--”

“Now.” Lestrade commanded with authority.

Mycroft scoffed slightly, but obeyed, hissing softly when Greg cinched the fabric a little too tightly over his wrists to bind them. Lestrade stepped back again, pleased, and reached to the nightstand where Mycroft kept the small bottle of lubricant. Flicking the cap up, Greg positioned the bottle just above the cleft of Mycroft’s arse, watching the clear water-based solution drizzle down along the crevice.

The subdued man sucked in a sharp breath as the cold liquid dribbled onto his skin, but the sound was followed by a soft hum as Lestrade’s fingers trailed down the slick path and parted him to find the puckered entrance. The movements were practiced and precise--experience guiding the probing fingers as he prepared his lover with urgency. Mycroft looked back at Greg, still curious as to what had happened that night, but remaining silent. It was more than apparent that the Detective needed this, needed to reassert his power and dominance, and Mycroft prostrated himself to Lestrade with absolute trust.

Lestrade watched his lover’s face as he pressed his fingers into the tight ring of muscle, his cock twitching when Mycroft released a moan of pleasure. The initial resistance quickly abated and Lestrade’s tongue rolled over his lower lip. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you?”

Even after years of their secret affair, Mycroft had never grown comfortable with sex-talk. He loved to listen to the filthy things Lestrade whispered in his ear during their trysts, but he could never bring himself to reciprocate. Normally, his non-verbal responses never seemed to phase Greg, but tonight, it appeared he was going to be forced to speak. The finger twisted inside of him, pulsing roughly. “Don’t you?”

“Y-Yes.” Mycroft managed.

“I wanna hear you beg for it,” the familiar elision brought a light smile to Mycroft’s lips rather than a cringe, as he’d grown fond of Lestrade’s unpolished Estuary accent over time.

Mycroft looked back at Greg again, a fire burning in his eyes. “I don’t beg, Detective.”

A second finger joined the first, making Mycroft groan and clench momentarily. “Don’t you, though?”

Raising an eyebrow, Mycroft wet his lips with his tongue. “I suppose there is only one way to find out.”

Lestrade’s cock jerked with anticipation, his eyes blackened with lust as he fingered his lover. With his free hand, he grabbed the tie around Mycroft’s wrists and hauled him to his feet, feeling the muscles tighten around his fingers as the position shifted. The other man had a few inches of height on him, making it so that Greg could only mouth the top of Mycroft’s shoulder, breathing hot and heavy against the warm, pale skin. “Say it, Mycroft.”

“Say what?” He played ignorant, but the pleasure in his tone was unmistakable.

“Tell me you want my cock.” 

“Does it really need to be said?”

Again the fingers pulsed roughly with a twist. “Say. It.”

“I...want you.” Teeth latched onto a patch of skin at Mycroft’s neck, making him cry out a little. “I want...your cock.”

Groaning, Lestrade withdrew his fingers, grabbing the bottle of lube and drizzling a generous amount on his cock. He released Mycroft and bent him back over the edge of the bed, lining himself up and rubbing the head of his cock against the readied hole. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“Gregory…”

“Say it!”

Mycroft nearly sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I want you to fuck me.”

Lestrade pushed himself inside, drawing out a deep moan from both of them as he filled Mycroft to the hilt. Gripping the other man’s waist, Greg adjusted his stance, reveling in the tight heat around his cock before pulling back to the tip and thrusting back in again. Mycroft turned his face against the duvet, muffling his sounds of pleasure as the Inspector set a furious rhythm behind him.

The sounds of their bodies slapping together, coupled with the sight of Mycroft bound and gagged by the coverlet before him, fueled Lestrade’s hunger. He dropped his head back, eyes closing as he lost himself in bliss, pounding into Mycroft again and again. He yanked the knot of the tie, releasing Mycroft’s wrist and waiting for the other man to push up against the mattress before looping it around his neck and lightly pulling back. Mycroft gasped against the pressure on his windpipe, pushing his arse back firmly against Greg’s cock. 

It had been an accidental discovery when they’d found they both enjoyed a bit of light BDSM. Bondage, breath-play, and submission had been the extent of their sexual exploration, and typically only ever used when one or the other had had an exceptionally trying day. Greg listened to the light wheeze coming from his lover as his airway was restricted, and just knowing how much Mycroft enjoyed this was doing wonders to his libido. He groaned and pressed firmly against Mycroft’s prostate.

“Greg…” The word was a release of air, and a sweet sound to Lestrade’s ears. The only time Mycroft ever shortened his name was in the throes of passion, and it was the only time Lestrade knew he could get away with doing the same.

“My…” 

The strangled, gasping cry beneath him signaled the beginning of Mycroft’s release and Lestrade pushed hard against his prostate, rocking into him as he reached around to pull at Mycroft’s cock. The muscles around him contracted, holding tight and milking Greg as Mycroft spilled into his hand, clutching at the bedsheets. Lestrade let Mycroft’s inarticulate moans drive him to the edge before he roughly pulled out, pressing Mycroft back into the bed and spilling himself on his lover’s lower back with a grunt of gratification.

Panting heavily , Greg leaned against Mycroft for support for several moments before the blood returned to his head, making the stars in front of his eyes dissipate slowly. Mycroft was sated beneath him, cheek resting on the mattress and eyes closed as he breathed through his mouth. Stumbling into the adjoining bathroom, Lestrade fumbled with a washcloth, wetting it under warm water after washing the mess from both hands. He cleaned himself off, then moved back to the bed where Mycroft was still bent over, waiting. He couldn’t help but smile ruefully at the vulnerable position he’d left his lover in, but quickly wiped the cum from Mycroft’s back before letting him clean off his own cock. 

Lestrade pulled down the covers and slipped inside as Mycroft rinsed the cloth in the bathroom and hung it to dry over the rack. When Mycroft finally joined Lestrade in bed, the two allowed a soft, tender kiss before Mycroft rested his head against Greg’s shoulder. “Would it be rotten of me to ask what happened tonight, now?”

Lestrade draped his arm around Mycroft, fingers absently stroking his lover’s arm as the question brought back the fresh memory. “Your boyfriend nearly got himself killed, that’s what happened.”

Mycroft sat up slightly, concerned gunmetal blue eyes searching Lestrade’s face. “What do you mean?”

“Me and Donovan were making an arrest. I dunno how it happened, but the bloke knocked me back when I was cuffing ‘im and bolted. We chased him on foot, but lost him down by Limehouse ship lock. Figured we should split up to find the bastard, so Donovan was checking the locks and I went down to the docks. I know he must’ve been watching us because he jumped me from somewhere above--I guess he must have been stowing himself on one of the boats. He managed to get my gun and I found myself flat on my back with my own bloody gun in my face. Thank Christ he hesitated because it bought enough time for Donovan to make a shot. He could have killed me. He would have if it hadn’t been for her. I’m getting too old for his bloody stuff, Mycroft. It’s going to get me killed one day.”

Mycroft reached up and laid a hand along Lestrade’s cheek, turning his face until their eyes met. “Mistakes happen, Gregory. The only thing of importance here is that you’re alive...and that you remember to be more careful next time.” Lestrade let Mycroft pull him into another kiss, letting the words wash over him like a balm. It wasn’t very often that he was shaken by something at work, but tonight was the closest he’d come to getting himself killed in a very long time, and it had terrified him. He was grateful that Mycroft had let him work through his demons, and that he was offering comfort to him now. It was rare that either of them ever really needed to lean on the other, but it was reassuring to know that they could.

“One more thing,” Mycroft said as the kiss ended and he adjusted the covers around himself, meeting Lestrade’s eyes once more. “Never, ever refer to me as your ‘boyfriend’ again.”

Despite himself, Lestrade laughed and rested his head against Mycroft’s as the other man settled against his shoulder. “Call it what you want, Mycroft Holmes; it doesn’t change the fact that we’re together.”

“Keep calling my your boyfriend, and it just might.” Mycroft warned with no real threat to his words.

Lestrade grinned and pressed his lips to Mycroft’s head. “Alright, I’ll stop calling you my boyfriend.”

“Thank you.”

“Does lover work better for you, then?” Greg teased.

Mycroft made a noise of annoyance, turning his head to look up at Lestrade. “Change the subject. Now.”

With a light chuckle, Lestrade shifted down a little in the bed, holding Mycroft against his side. “Go to sleep, love.”

“Goodnight...Gregory.”

“Goodnight, Mycroft.”


End file.
